


Gilded Cages

by kixxy23



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After getting his ass kicked, Animagus, Animagus Harry Potter, Animal Transformation, BAMF Harry Potter, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry Potter, Handsome Tom Riddle, Harry Potter is Death, Harry Potter was a Horcrux, Harry explains Horcruxes, Harry's Patronus is so corporeal he can ride it., I was watching Death Becomes Her, I'm not drunk, Idk what i'm doing, It's still a stag, Just drinking, Kinda, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Maybe too inspired?, Obsession, Or a Dragon would probably be more accurate, Possessive Tom Riddle, Pretty Harry Potter, Professor Harry Potter, Raven Harry Potter, The Deathly Hallows, There is still remnants of Tom there, Thus making Harry have almost all of Voldemort's soul, Time Travel, Tom Riddle acts like a Niffler, Tom Riddle falls hard, Tom decides they're soul mates, Tom has an 'Oh Shit!' moment, Tom is in 7th year, When Harry destroyed other Horcruxes he absorbed them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-03 19:36:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20458361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kixxy23/pseuds/kixxy23
Summary: Due to being Master of Death and wanting to make a change in the key moments where everything went to shit for his timeline, Harry goes back in time. He just didn't expect to flop down rag-doll style onto a young Professor Dumbledor's desk.Or make Grindelwald nearly piss himself in fear.Or gain a stalker from a baby-faced, pre-Voldemort Tom Riddle.What's Harry to do?~Tom Marvolo Riddle is a cold, heartless dark wizard. A Dark Lord in the making, with the political power of several dark Pure-Blood families at his beck and call, and a plethora of pawns to use then toss aside. The pain and suffering of others at his hand are one of only a few ways he can feel elation.Not joy. Never. True positive emotions elude him at every turn. Born of a dark love potion, he was never meant to love. It's a fable. A weakness. Tom is better.But what is this, than?This ache in his chest?He feels more whole than ever, even before his Horcruxes.





	1. Souls of Gods and Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning to anyone expecting regular updates: I have the tag 'I'm not drunk'~'Just drinking' on any work I have that I only ever update while intaking alcohol or the day after. This means that I won't update as frequently, as it's kind of a promise to myself to write when I feel most inspired and have fewer inhibitions about what I'm writing. I might actually get drunk halfway through, and I don't edit it before I post. So if I have any spelling errors please excuse me and just tell me in the comments. It also means that my sentences are probably not the best. If I ever finish this story, I'll go back and edit it if that's what is wanted.  
With that out of the way, I do hope you enjoy it!

Hadrien James Potter, otherwise known as Harry, had fought in a war and won before he'd even finished puberty.

He fought in a war he initially wanted no part in.

He took his peers, fellow children, and turned them into an army.

His first kill had been as a one-year-old.

He survived the Killing Curse and later found he was immune to Imperio.

He slew the king of snakes, a Basilisk, at twelve.

He could cast one of the most difficult spells in the Wizarding World by Thirteen, single-handedly taking down a swarm of Dementors in the process.

He was forcefully entered into the Tri-Wizard Tournament, having to pick between his magic and his safety.

He found out that he was a Horcrux. A dark artifact that not only held a piece of his foe's soul, but was a reason in which the monster would never truly die without committing his greatest sacrifice.

He fought one of the worst Dark Lord's to ever exist and defeated him over and over again.

He held all three Deathly Hallows, at one point or another.

He even walked to his death, leaving the realm of the living at 17.

He, of course, came back just to spite his enemy and finish the job he hadn't started, yet was left to him to clean up.

Only to be left picking up the pieces as everyone looked to him for advice.

Little did he know that you don't have to be holding all three Hallows at once to gain the title 'Master of Death'.

~

Years went by, but he didn't age.

His friends did.

They gained laugh-lines and wrinkles and indents in their foreheads from stress and anger. Their skins changed from pale to tan, and back again. Freckles sprayed across cheeks and shoulders. Scars bloomed from even minor wounds.

It was as if Harry didn't truly survive the Battle of Hogwarts that fateful day.

He felt like it, too.

He loved his friends, but he was not cruel. He would not stand over their shoulders like the Reaper himself.

He let his hair grow out to appear to age more. He never had dead-ends, which he guessed could be seen as a plus.

He changed his glasses as well. He kept the large, round lenses, but changed them to thin gold-wire frames. He even added those chains that elderly librarians use to help keep them on, even though he didn't need them anymore.

He started wearing older styles of fashion. But he always mixed and matched eras, so he could never tell if something was working. He prided himself on looking fashionable, but was lost on what time was which.

Heck, he even began to study! Though, not with all too good results.

He still hated Divinations.

He tried to be a good step-father to Teddy. Harry knew he was getting excentric in his 'age', and hoped it didn't reflect on Teddy too much. He helped his godson with studies as much as he could. Took care of him during full moons. Encouraged him to follow his dreams.

Harry still didn't miss the way Teddy side-eyed him when he started noticing strange things about his guardian. Eventually, he told Teddy everything.

He didn't lie when he said he'd always be there for his god-son. He just had to add the fact that he'd also out-live his godson.

And one by one his friends passed away. He tried to hide his face from public view as much as possible to avoid the questions that inevitably would be asked.

Finally, Teddy also passed.

Harry wasn't too close with his godson's family but left many estates to them.

Eventually, Harry lived longer than his world. Left with nothing but to explore the after.

Never aging. Never dying. Never changing.

And Harry could not take it any longer.

~

When Harry used the ritual, he expected to go back through time to just before Tom Riddle left Hogwarts. He didn't care about the wrongs already committed. He was only curious to see how things would change with slight interference. He was mostly excited about seeing other living people. And being between two wars. Not even counting the Muggle one.

But Harry forgot that any type of transportation magic would barf him out on the other side.

Which was how Harry James Potter found himself rag dolling through the timeline only to slam face-first onto a younger Albus Dumbledor's oak desk.


	2. Timelines and Tea-Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can't exactly go around with the name 'Potter', now can he? Maybe the Goblins will help. They always do!  
~  
Albus wants nothing to do with this nonsense.  
He had only wanted to find a way to stop the war and get Grindelwald back. (Maybe collect the Hallows? He already became 'friends' with the creator of the Philosophers Stone. They wouldn't have to worry as much about immortality and could be together forever. (No he was not some school girl with a crush!))  
He was even ready to just shove him behind bars and have access that way.  
He did not want to deal with a time-traveling paradox of a human being who seemed to make friends with any Creature he came across.  
How do the Goblins like him!?!?  
Albus calls the universe both cruel and stupid. THIS ISN'T WHAT HE ASKED FOR!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Albus may be a hopeless gay for a moment, but there will be no slash between them!  
Also, Harry kinda became a fan of the Labyrinth. It's where he got his fashion sense. He looks like a gay pirate going to a ball.  
I also said later in the night, but it's three in the morning the next day. Whoops.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was a man on a mission. He paced his office trying to come up with a solution. He had his own dilemma to deal with. His best friend, and occasional lover, Gellert Grindelwald was ramping up his war. He had to act fast, otherwise, when he did subdue Gellert, the man would be given The Kiss by Dementors. They could never have anything nice. Every time they got close, Gellert just had to act brashly and mess _everything_ up! Albus feels that he's aging by the second from all this! And how long would Gellert's promise to not attack Hogwarts last?

Everything was falling down a drain and Albus just wanted to get his life together.

He was damned if he ever had to leave his post as a professor, though. He worked hard to get a job at Hogwarts! He even suspected that he was going to be offered the position of Headmaster, and was doing his best to prove he could fill the role. He had no time to be dealing with Gellert's pandering of the dark forces. His Reapers could shove it. And he still had to keep his eyes on one, Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The up and coming Dark Lord was already appearing to be stronger than Gellert, and that was a problem.

He at least knew Gellert's weaknesses. He knew he would win in a duel. But, against Tom? He had nothing over the young man's head. No weakness. No happiness. No love. Nothing!

He collapsed against his desk, barely managing to land in his chair as he pooled his head onto his arms.

"Please! Whatever God might hear me, please, please, please! Send me something to help me! I don't know if I can do this alone!" His muffled voice yelled into the void of his empty classroom.

Albus started at something sounding like a dying pterodactyl slamming onto his desk.

No. Not something. _Someone._

A person, a man, appeared from his ceiling and slammed face-first onto his oak wood desk.

Albus looked up slack-jawed and befuddled, arms out in a gesture of confused awe. Furrowing his eyebrows, he asked, "God?"

Maybe Albus isn't an atheist anymore.

~

The man did not get up. He made no motion of movement, not even breath. Albus waited and waited, slowly budding chill taking his heart as a dawning realization came upon him.

He elected to ignore it for the time being and observe.

The man was inhuman. That he could tell off the bat. He looked like he was from the direct parentage of a Veela and the biblical stereotype of an angel. Though, if a God really did send someone to help, the second part would make sense. The mysterious figure would be all parts nude except for the long white cloth that spared his decency, wrapped around his tanned body, around down one long leg and up over a strong shoulder, pillowing under his head. The man was exceedingly short, under six feet but over five if just barely. He also had the trait of very long hair.

What was that one muggle fairy tale? The one about a girl named after a vegetable? Ah, Repunzel! He seemed to be the male equivalent to her.

Said hair pooled off the side of the oak desk. And there was _a lot_ of it. It shined like dark bird feathers and carried curls and waves as far as the eye could see. An abyss of black night you could hide a body in.

How can anyone physically have so much hair? Surely it would hurt to carry that much weight on one's head? And how in Merlin's name can one person take care of such a monstrosity? Albus himself had trouble with his long hair, and it was only to the small of his back when completely straightened.

The stranger's face was also weird. His skin was abnormally smooth. It lacked dents, lines, wrinkles, and almost any pores. High prominent cheekbones with browbones to match and a sharp square jaw to pull everything together. His chin was pointed, cheeks barely gaunt, eyes deep-set, with a strong nose to boot. A thin upper lip painted matte black, highlighting a defined cupids bow and non-painted medium-sized lower lip. He seemed to be wearing a type of kohl or eyeliner that further made his deep sockets seem more hollow, and flared out like a thorn. He even seemed to be wearing mascara and golden mica powder!

The only thing that seemed human was a pinkish-opalescent scar that spread over his forehead, cutting once through his right eyebrow, framing the outline of his face and ending at a little over his cheekbones simular to a Lichtenberg figure.

Albus didn't know how long he'd waited. Eventually, he realized that he would just have to check on the health of the young man.

He walked cautiously over to the figure lying twisted on his desk. He noticed something new. The man had no natural flushing. Just solid bronze skin. It was almost disturbing. He seemed to be a roman statue painted the bare minimum to appear human. He held not the paler of Death but he lacked life, to begin with. Reaching out to touch the man proved that he held no heat either. He wasn't cold. It was more like room temperature. Which seemed, somehow, worse.

Albus went to check his pulse, putting his index and middle finger to the being's throat and felt nothing. No blood rushing, no heartbeat.

He didn't know what he expected.

Suddenly, his wrist was grabbed, the man's eyes flashed open and for a moment Albus thought he was hit with the killing curse.

Where else would he see such a vibrant green?

But no, _it was only the thing's eyes_.

~

Harry watched in amusement as a younger Albus Dumbledore tripped over himself in a rapid rush to get away from him. He could feel a cheeky grin curl his lips apart, one step from sneering. How could the man that prided himself on being powerful act like such a coward?

Harry lightly stretched with his hands behind his head. It had been a while since he'd been able to sleep, and even the twenty to thirty minutes were a reprieve he'd missed. If only sleep didn't usually mean anywhere from days to weeks of death-like sleep. The first time it had happened, he crashed his own funeral. Ah, fun times. Hermione smacked him in the face while Ron looked done with the rest of existence. The second time someone found him in that state, his friends hadn't been alive anymore and he was put into the ground in a muggle cemetery. Punching your way out of a wooden casket and digging your body out of the grave apparently causes mass hysteria among both worlds. By the tenth time, Harry would just let himself gain some rest without caring for time passing. Though, there were these grave-diggers who were quite surprised to see his 'corpse' not rotten. Apparently he'd been dead three hundred years by that point. They pissed themselves when he woke up and asked what time it was. That was also how he got adopted, however briefly, by two men who just wanted to get through life happy. There was another time when he'd been found and someone thought he was an art piece. He awoke to still be in his glass coffin in the middle of a church-turned-mausoleum. He was even called 'Sleeping Beauty', which was hilarious.

But his mind was now rambling, as it often did, as he slowly scanned his surroundings. One hand still on his scalp but the other light upon his collarbone, scratching, as he yawned. The professor was still excentric in his decorating.

He turned back to face Albus.

"Hello. I am in Hogwarts, yes?"

Albus continued to gape like a fish for a moment before he regained his composure. "Uh, yes. Yes, you are in Hogwarts. I'm am Albus Dumbledore, a professor. By chance, who are you?"

Harry's grin turned into an eye-crinkling smile. "I'm Hadrian. Hadrian Potter. Though, I suppose I don't exist yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Ha, I came from the future." Harry cheerfully stated.

"Why?"

"There's a war, yes? Against Grindlewald and his Reapers? I think I could be of benefit to you."

Confusingly, Albus looked up to the ceiling as if asking if a deity is real. _How strange_, Harry thought.

~

"And why, pray tell, are we going to Gringotts?" Albus fussed for the 'nth time. He disliked the large crowd in Nocturne Ally and kept bumping into fellow wizards following the stranger named 'Harry', pushing in the lunch rush only to get pushed back. He barely managed to keep up.

"To start myself a paper trail, making proof I exist. Get myself documentation. Also, you should always be respectful to the Goblins. They might never be your allies, but you never want them to be your enemies. They will remain neutral so long as you give them common courtesy. Or your money." Harry cheerfully said, weaving easily between wizards like a ghost. "I once stole one of their dragons and was met with many swords on my next visit. They only stopped disemboweling me when they realize it was useless."

Albus squinted at this.

How in bloody blazes of Feindfyre was this the one sent to help him? His future self was either a senile donkey, or Harry helped him as well. Which would imply a time-loop. What was Albus going to do? The young man seemed younger than his elder students. Harry could, maybe, pass for twenty.

Thank whoever was looking out for him the Harry transfigured the white cloth into 'pants'. What Albus was not expecting was for Harry to cut his hair a little past his feet and transfigure that into other clothes and a pair of shoes.

The figure he was following was wearing black ballet _tights_, black-brown half-calve pirate boots with _heels_, a white Victorian Regency men's blouse with _ruffles_, with a green and gold _cropped brocade tailcoat_. He also wore a pair of white gloves, gold-wire, round spectacles with holding chain and a green ribbon he used to keep his magically braided hair up. But honestly, with the rest of his attire, those seemed plain. Did Harry not know subtlety?

Seeing the Bank, Albus felt relief. He has been stressing more in the past _hour_ than he has in the last few _months_! You try smuggling a person from a highly secure school with tracking charms! If Harry hadn't known so many secret passages, they'd have probably never gotten this far.

Walking into the Bank seemed to be another story.

Harry waltzed in like a Pure-Blood but carried a dreamy expression and an impish grin. Gliding up to an open till, he twisted his torso, slightly stuck his left foot's toe out, and leaning into the foot bowed elegantly at the waist, placing his left hand behind his back and his right over his heart.

"May your gold ever flow and your blade never dull." Harry lulled up to the Goblin Banker.

The creature started in surprise at the sentence, but quickly turned his face into a sharp-toothed grin.

The Goblin tilted his head to a bow, "May your gold ever flow and your enemies blood spill." Albus swears that this had been the first time he'd ever heard a Goblin happy at a wizard in a non-malicious way.

"I accept your kind words with as much respect as I can give." Harry intoned, coming up from his bow and placing both hands loosely behind himself.

"What is it you came here for, Young Wizard?"

"I seem to be in a dilemma regarding my identity, at the moment. I just need basic Documentation of my existence, and of my blood. But such are personal matters which hold secrets I cannot tell in public. You understand, do you not?" Harry continued kindly in a soft voice.

"Of course, of course." The Goblin spoke jovially. "I'll see to it you are personally handled by one of our more proficient accountants. My name is Rip-jaw, and you may always ask for meager help with your accounts when at my till. I'll go see if one of my associates can come sort out your problems. Do wait here."

Albus still felt utterly stunned at how quickly Harry seemed to make friends with a generally hostile creature. He suddenly felt a weight release from his shoulders as he felt something near manic. His new chesspiece was set and not even he knew what it could do. But already, Harry was a promising ally.


	3. Death, by any other name, may still smell just as sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old name is given to one who is already a descendant and fits the title more than others. Dumbledore starts to titillate the idea that something is more awry than originally suspected. But if what he thinks is true, he's gained a devastatingly powerful ally.  
Convincing Headmaster Dippet to let Harry teach is surprisingly easy when the previous professor admits that Harry has skills she's no longer able to teach. Seeing the fully corporeal stag made of happy memories and light might have been the deal-breaker. If Harry's surname had not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, another chapter so soon. Don't worry. While I have been drinking, I don't ever truly get to the point of drunk. I'm being as safe as possible while ingesting poison.  
I am so happy that others seem to enjoy this work. It's quickly catching up to my best story, "Dancing with the Hart".  
Yes, I'm shamelessly going to plug my own work here. "Dancing with the Hart" is about a 'time-traveling' Harry finding a friend in a young Tom Riddle before everything goes to shit for the two. It's also about Tom becoming fascinated with Disney Princesses and wanting to be one. Tom Riddle's first year of Hogwarts alines with the year "Snow White" came out and I died a little inside. Because, if Tom became friends with a little Harry that can become a deer, and he can talk to snakes, and he gets an owl (solely to write to Harry with) that understands him when he speaks, you bet your bum he'd become a professional at Beast-Speak.

A sharp-grinned Rip-jaw came back, leading an intrigued accountant up to the two waiting wizards.

Harry proceeded to do the same bow again. This time earning a stunned expression and a mirrored bow. A grin quickly took the new Goblin's face.

"I am Grip-hook. It was told to me that you are having complications that require a personal hand?" It was made to sound like an inquiry rather than a statement. Albus vaguely realized what was happening. The Goblins were making it seem less under the table so as not to attract already listening ears' attention.

"How gracious of you. May you pardon me and my associate for requesting on such short notice?" Harry kept his eye-to-eye smile and cheery voice. He almost sounded like a Pure-Blood, but none Albus knew of would ever act in such ways towards anyone they thought had less power. But that lead the ginger to remember Harry's previous words. He thought _very_ highly of the Goblins.

"Of course." Was the reply.

As he reflected as Harry's choice to describe said creatures, Albus pondered the very real threat there. Maybe he should ask Mr. Binns about the Goblin Wars. (And actually listen this time.) He was reviewing what he already knew as the Goblin named Grip-hook lead them behind a wall and down a corridor. The smaller being then opened a large door quickly, allowing him and Harry in. As they did so, Harry nodded his head, smile ever-present. So Albus did the same, gently bowing his head down and up in the Goblin's direction. This seemed to please the creature.

Grip-hook then sat in the high wooden chair behind a desk of the same material and started the meeting.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of having our attendance requested? And, by whom?"

"I am Hadrian James Potter. I have found myself thrown back in time and am requesting to take another family name than 'Potter'. But I will need to have a blood test done to prove I am who I say I am, and to prove my claim to another name." At this, Harry pulls out several gems of beautiful clarity. They lay in his hand and were offered to Grip-hook. "I do not have any Galleons on me, so I do hope a trade will suffice?" At this, Grip-hook takes the precious stones and looks at them. Confusion paints the creatures' face only to be replaced with stunned disbelief. Then, the Goblin was scrabbling for one of those looking-glasses that they usually used to analyze gems. He turned the gems this way and that, only to set the device down and slump back in his chair wide-eyed.

"Diamonds." Came the breathy gasp. "Of the purest, most refined quality I have ever seen!" To which the Goblin suddenly shot up and pulled papers, a bowl, and an athame dagger with such determination that it left Albus stumped. Till Albus replayed what the other said. Diamonds? Harry didn't have those before. And the Goblin would have been able to tell if they were transfigured. The jewels themselves were placed delicately on soft leather cloth. "Here is the test; You must cut yourself with the dagger and let it flow into the bowl. You don't need much. Just enough to put on the parchment and to sign a few documents after. We can get you started on a new account right after we confirm your heritage." Grip-hook left no room for denial. Almost like he couldn't fathom a fate worse than Harry leaving the Bank without an account."

"Of course. Could you please give me the dagger?" He outstretched the same hand that offered the diamonds before and the blade was quickly placed. Maybe the Goblin really was desperate?

Harry ran the dagger across the back of his hand lightly. The shallow cut bled more than Albus expected, at a much faster rate, and healed without a blemish when the bowl seemed full enough. He gave the blade back to Grip-hook and the Goblin dipped the athame into the darkening blood. The tip was then placed upon the parchment and red turned to black, spreading across the page.

Harry was most definitely a Potter. But that wasn't what stunned him.

"I'd like to claim the title of Peverell."

Needless to say, Albus walked out of Gringotts Bank with the newly dubbed Lord Hadrian James Perveall and a question on the tip of his tongue that refused to be asked.

For now, he will made sure Harry gets his OWEL's and NEWT's completed.

~

Galatea Merrythought was getting too old to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. She wanted to retire, especially after the incident last year with the Muggleborn girl dying because of one of her half-giant students' love of creatures. But, still. She wasn't going to just _hand out_ the job. After all, the new professor would be teaching children.

That's why she hoped her old student was right about the boy he brought in. But Albus's word wasn't enough to convince her off the bat. She still had to test this child. Even if he did have near-perfect scores on his documents.

And a child he was. She was not expecting to be so literally right. He didn't look a day over _twenty_, if even that! And what the blimey was he wearing!?! He was even more eccentric than Dumbledore! The only positive is that the boy could pull off such a style. But that might be attributed to the fact he looked like the parentage between a Veela and a Greek statue.

"Ah! Hello. It's so nice to meet you." The boy said excitedly. To which he bowed lightly and quickly got up. "I am Hadrian. Thank you for letting me have the chance to see if I can help teach at Hogwarts." Hadrian smiled charmingly.

"We'll see if you can actually take over such a position. Albus made you seem like the best fit, but I will be the judge of that." Merrythought sassed in the voice she used to sound strict. It worked well against her students to make them chilled to her, but Hadrian kept smiling. "I am Professor Merrythought. Now, let's get started!" She nodded her head once at him and got in a dueling stance. He fluidly fell into one as well.

She launched an Expelliarmus and Hadrian ducked, dipping out of the way like a bird, getting closer. She backed away, danced around and lept over hexes, all while throwing her own. She noticed that he was a superb opponent and quite skilled. He was smiling still, but it was more bloodthirsty. Part of her shivered at the danger there, but she also knew, from the way he fought, that if he actually decided to hurt her, he could do it easy. The reason he didn't was that he also had restraint. Something others lacked, which made them a danger to students. He'd be a good candidate for only that, but he was suddenly in front of her and snatched her wand from her hand and swept her feet from under her.

She looked at the clock to see he got her down in five minutes. And he wasn't even going full force. She turned back to see Hadrian offering his hand. He pulled her up swiftly, which she was not used to, causing her to laugh. Today may show more promise than she has had in a long time.

"Good duel! You seem very proficient. I do hope you pass the rest of my tests." She said joyfully.

"I'm glad I'm coming up to expectations. What else should we test?" He inquired.

"I don't suppose you can do the Patronus charm?" She jokingly jabbed.

"Sure do!"

Before she knew what was happening, Hadrian turned around and flicked his wand.

A mighty stag made of wisps and light appeared before her stunned eyes. She watched it prance about the room, only to stop in front of her. It was solid. So solid in fact, that when she reached her hand out it didn't go through. Instead, it layed upon the corporeal form.

Dippet _was_ going to hire him, if it was the last thing she did. 

~

Dippet wondered at Merrythought actually supporting this new would-be Professor. She had come in with the flurry of a storm, dragging Dumbledore behind her. Explaining how she was retiring and a 'Hadrian' was taking her place. Albus just looked on amused.

"Merrythought. I'll give him a chance. I will have to have you here for the first month of him teach, though. So that he'll know how classes are run and to see if you still recommend him after that time." Dippet paused, then asked, "And what is this man's full name, again?"

"I actually didn't get his last name." Merrythought realized aloud.

The two turned to Albus.

"His name is Hadrian Peverell." The twinkle in his eyes flared in mirth as his audience grew wide-eyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know my editor app keeps fucking up Peverell, I hope it's fucking done now. I'm so angry and I can't but laugh at the ridiculousness that that was.


	4. Opening Feast and a Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom is finally back home in Hogwarts. He has Knights already getting into Ministery business, ready and lying in wait, as those who have yet to graduate surround him at the closest point to the Head Table. His first and second Horcruxes made, immortality in his grasp. He had gained Prefect status, was the top of all his class records and expected no different this year.  
And it seems that there is a new professor for his favorite class.  
Tom had to admit the man was a stunning visual, but he had no doubt that he would be charmed just as easily as-  
"Let us give a warm welcome to your new teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Hadrian Peverell."  
WHAT!!??!????!

Sitting down in the Main Hall, flanked by his Knights of Walpurgis, chest bearing the Prefect badge, Tom felt like a king coming home. Those around him were chatting and all he could do was bask in this feeling. Hogwarts' magic danced beneath his skin and in his lungs.

The Hall quieted down as Headmaster Dippet took to the podium in front and gave his usual speech to the First-Years. Then the Sorting commenced.

But something was different. There was a new head at the main table. He'd already been told that there would be a new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. He'd been hoping to obtain the job after graduation, but it doesn't mean he can't do a little 'convincing'. He had little information, if any at all, on the new teacher. Maybe he'll learn something new? Most probably not. Tom had read much on his favorite subject, even those less legal.

Starry-eyed children stubbled into the folds of their new Houses and the next speech began. Welcoming the First-years. Greetings to the others. Congratulations to those in their final year. Announcements and rules and reassurances that the Darklord and his Reapers wouldn't get onto school grounds. Warnings of how the school works and to not jump from one flight of stairs to the next just because you're late. Reintroduction of the main staff. Some-old, same-old.

What was new was when the Headmaster gestured to the main table behind him.

"As any of our older students can see, we have a new face joining us this year."

A semi-short man with exceedingly long hair and a strange fashion sense got up from his seat, bowing politely. His skin was between bronze and gold and his hair was a shiny black. Tom wouldn't be surprised if the new teacher wasn't at least half Indian heritage. His face was sculpted, square-ish, and bearing a large scar on his forehead. If Tom wasn't so close to the front he would have missed the verdancy of this man's eyes.

Overall, the new Professor didn't look bad. Tom had to admit, he wouldn't mind staring at this man's face for the rest of the year.  _ (It kinda made Tom wish he was already legal.) _ _ Those thoughts aside _ , he was sure the new teacher wouldn't be different from the others. Easily charmed. Easily played. Undoubtedly like most people.

"Let us give a warm welcome to your new teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Hadrian Peverell." Dippet finished, moving the long sleeves of his blue robe aside to clap. But the Main Hall was almost dead quiet, except for the Muggleborn and those who didn't know the significance of the name. The clapping slowly died in the empty air.

Stunned silence overwhelmed the old Headmaster.

"I hope you all find Mister Peverell to be an adequate teacher. Now, let us start the feast." Dippet then went to sit back down as food appeared on the long dining tables.

The newly dubbed Professor Peverell sat down as well, still donning a light smile and showing no inclination that he was insulted towards the silence.

Mayhaps Tom should have a one on one chat with their new 'teacher'.

~

Harry had many eyes on him, yet he paid them no heed. He didn't need to. Not when there was a certain pair that was about to pounce on the opportunity to rip secrets out from his own.

But Harry was clever enough to be considered for Slytherin his first go around. He already had the pieces to instant checkmate. All he needed to do was set the board with no one noticing. Not till it was too late.

He'd never really forgiven the sacrifices Dumbledore told others to make for him, nor the sacrifices he was forced to make. Many problems with the current timeline and his old were because of him. The elder had much to atone for and Harry had a debt to collect. A bit of chaos and fear could do the man well to remember people's lives weren't games. But the only way Harry could drive that home is by playing the game himself.

The difference between his pieces and Dumbledore's is that Harry's would come to him willingly and would leave with a much better outcome.

But he had to admit, he hadn't expected Tom to deliberately seek him out so soon.

~

Tom was desperate to talk to the new Professor.

It wasn't just the man's name, though Tom admitted that it was a large part. But, who would blame him? Lestrange looked like he was about to defy Tom's order of staying behind. Malfoy a step away from licking his boots to have a chance to see Peverell. They both knew that Tom had his Prefect duties, that he would use the time fully and become acquainted with the new face. The ability to be part of the Professor's first impression of students in such a noble house gave Tom more power than most.

But, Tom would have to say that wasn't the full reason.

As he approached the area in which the old DADA teacher's office resided he questioned what the other was. He was strangely pulled. He needed something. But what was it? What was Tom seeking?

He came upon the large door already cracked open, spilling light into the corridors. This halted Tom. What was he to do now? Did he knock? Did he call out since the door was open?

He didn't have to decide. The door opened more to reveal the inside of the room. At once, Tom was revolted on the first impression by the multiple colors making its design. Only to, on the second glace, adore the room. It was not wallpaper being different colors, but towers of books! Here and there was a good amount of items and baubles, too. But the mess was all either in the walls shelves or surrounding a worn leather chair.

"Hello. Who might you be?" Professor Peverell's voice was warm and tired. Then, the man's face showed confusion. As if he was trying to remember something important.

"I'm Tom Riddle, sir." The other's face lit in suprise. "I just was making my rounds as Prefect and saw your door ajar. I am dearly sorry if I had bothered you."

"No, no. Don't worry! I just didn't expect..." He seemed to trail off.

Then, Peverell straightened himself slightly. Like he was giving himself confidence for something.

"I think I must inform you of something quite important. If you would, may you please come in." He proceeded to gesture his left hand to the couch at the side of the previously mentioned chair.

Tom was confused but obliged. He stepped in, letting Peverell close the wood door with a sense of welling in his lungs. Something was going to happen.

The Professor went looking through his shelves, quietly muttering to himself. "I know it's here. It has to be here somewhere. Now, where did I put it?" Tom wouldn't have caught it from his perch on the sofa if he hadn't been focussing on the man before him.

Tom was feeling uncomfortable.

That was a rarity. Not a good one, either. This man was acting so strange. Half in his head and a half in the present, he looked dazed. Or drunk. Just Tom's luck, wasn't it, to deal with a drunk wizard he didn't know the weaknesses of yet. Damnit, he was going to have to fight a man of unknown power and was so stupid to go in alone. What if something happened. No one would believe him if he said anything.

"You look like him, you know?"

What?

Tom was cautious now. "Who, be chance, do you mean?"

Professor Peverell threw a glance over his shoulder and then returned the gaze to his bookshelf.

"That Muggle boy Merope fell for." He proceeds to pull out a box and come over to the Leather chair across from where Tom sat. "But if it is true that you are the Heir of Slytherin, that would make sense. You should tell your little minions to keep their mouths more shut."

"You knew my mother?" Tom felt something bloom in his chest. (He wasn't disregarding the fact that the man just said he had a leak, though. He would need to make it clear that such couldn't happen without repercussions.) Yes, he holds little regard for his mother. But to know where he came from? Through the eyes of a stranger, and not his mad Grand-Father?

"No."

Which was quickly crushed.

"I did not know her personally. I only knew she was in a horrible situation growing up. The Gaunt's were so inbred they had little magic left. Merope herself was thought to be a squib."

Tom didn't know if he was about to hit this man or not. He did not hold his tongue and was unaffected by Tom's charm. But he also just confirmed what Tom already knew, so at least the man wasn't lying to pander to him.

"At least your mother was kind enough to know that."

That startled Tom.

"What do you mean by that, sir?"

"I mean, Mister Riddle, that if she hadn't had a child with the Muggle man you would most definitely be a squib." The Professor paused for a moment and looked done to the box in his lap. "Or..."

"Or?" Tom parroted. He didn't know what else to do at this point. He felt like he was being rubbed raw.

A sigh escaped the man.

"Honestly? You wouldn't even be alive. A still-born. It's astounding that you survived, even though you were born of a Muggle father." Tom's orbs were pierced with green. And, for once in his life, he could not read another human being the way he has done since forever. Tom felt like a rug was about to be swept under him. "And even with surviving, the fact that you can do magic to such degree and that you appear to be in perfect health is a miracle." The Professor's voice held no emotion.

"Is there something your not telling me?" Tom felt cold behind his buzzing sternum.

"Your mother could have given you everything, is what I'm saying, Tom. She could have given up her health, her life, her magic, maybe even her very  _ soul _ just so you could thrive."

Professor Peverell slowly turns the box in his lap, letting the front face Tom. He flicked both latches on either side of the box and opened it.

Tom felt like he had no air. As there, in the box, was Slytherin's Locket. Along with the other three items of the Founders of Hogwarts.

This was not what he was expecting when he came to talk to the new teacher.


	5. What Would You Give?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom wishes he could've changed the past. He really wishes he could. Now he's missing out on the most important thing ever.  
~

** _Still a SneakPeak!_ **

Harry wasn't sure how he was going to teach a class, let alone classes, filled with students. He got lucky before. Every single one of the students that he trained for war had a motivation. Harry also had two friends to help. (But they had long been lost to time.)

So that left one option in Harry's mind. Give them a reason for motivation.

~~~

Who was stupid enough to give him First Years right off the bat?

~~~~

"Anger makes you stupid. Stupid gets you killed. Remember that, Malfoy. I don't need magic to kill you." Professor Peverell stated, looking down upon Abraxas as a God looks upon a fallen angel. As if the young man layed at his feet could have been great but decided to disappoint instead. They were the eyes of a father, reprimanding but kind. At this moment, Hadrian Peverell looked so much older than mortal possibility.

The young heir knew not why, but his eyes started to water. Abraxas hung his head in shame. All that talk. His pandering, snarking, and underhanded moves. It meant nothing to this man. Not to anyone with such power. He had bit off more than he could chew. Now he was regretfully left choking, biting back tears as his jaw moved in wordless pleas. He wanted to ask for forgiveness.

But he didn't need to.

The young Professor held out his hand in a gentle gesture, catching Malfoy in the eyes. Green was no longer thunderous. But it was still pouring a deep melancholy. Malfoy still accepted the hand.

"That will be all the dueling for today. We will continue to practice on dummies. If anyone needs help, raise your hand and wait for me to come by." With a flick of the holly wand, dummies were set up along one wall. Peverell motioned to Malfoy to come over to the desk with him.

As the rest of the class did their practice, the teacher put up a privacy charm around the desk.

"Malfoy. You should know better than to go and fight like that. That was well past regular dueling. I said a few scratches or bruises were understandable. It's a defense class." Professor Peverell sighed, "Why did you think it was a great idea to continue on like that?" His voice was soft, monotonous, and that was the most frightening thing about this.

"I figured it wasn't so bad."

"Not so bad? You burned them after it was evident you'd won."

"They're Muggleborn!" Abraxas hissed. "They should know not to taunt me!"

"Oh?" Peverell raised an eyebrow. "Am I worth less for my bloodline?"

"...What?" Growing dread started to bloom.

"My mother was Muggleborn."

_Shit._

"I personally think my blood is an irrelevant view of my value. My power stems from my mother's side more than my father's, though I bear his face."


End file.
